Forgetting the Plunge
by happilyeverafter18
Summary: Annabel and Owen's son is thirty-three. Like his mother, he was traumatized when he was a teen, only he was not raped. He witnessed the death of a girl, and this is how Kai Armstrong learns what life was like for Winny fifteen years ago. WRITING AGAIN!
1. Chapter 1

She took the plunge into the black water late that summer night, and she was gone. One moment she was there, and then she wasn't. She dove in a graceful arc. She stayed under for much longer than I thought she'd last. I swear, choir had made that girl grow a third lung. She came up in the middle of the lake. The stars were shining brightly in the rippling water. The light of a lantern spread across the lake, lighting up her figure. Her sopping wet reddish-brown hair looked black, and her pale, petite figure floated in the water. She was giggling and calling to me. I knew she wanted me to come to her, but I wouldn't. It was too dangerous to swim without supervision I told myself. It was too gross. It was too something. I didn't want to admit to myself that I was too selfish, too scared.

There was a large shadowed outline headed toward her. It was going so fast, and neither she nor I could react. She screamed in terror, and the lights in the house flickered on. I could feel myself crumbling. I only saw her. Time seemed to slow down, as if it couldn't help showing me the whole scene in detail so I'd wake up crying for months on end. The object gurgled ahead, oblivious to it all, leaving a trail of bubbles.

I was in the water. I forgot about the oh-so disgusting water with the fish pee and the musky just waiting to attack me. All that mattered was the girl, the one that wasn't coming up. It was the fastest swim I'd made in my life, and I dove. I dove for what seemed like twenty feet, and I came up with nothing but a lungful of stale air. I gasped for air, air that she'd never breathe.

It was unreal. I floated for what seemed like eternity. I was unaware of the sirens in the distance or the wails of a brokenhearted mother. I eventually climbed the ladder in a daze. My parents had come here at some point. My mother wrapped a towel around my trembling body; however, I was not shivering because of the cold or the wind that'd picked up.

My mother pecked my cheek, and her long blonde hair tickled my jaw line. I looked into her eyes. I could see how my father had fallen for her; the youthful beauty of her teens still lay in the depths of her eyes, the sway of her walk. She murmured in concern, "What were you thinking swimming out here all alone? And with some girl? What were you thinking? Hello? Kai?"

My father shook his head. He tapped his foot, filling the silence that I knew he hated. He stood over me protectively, massive and bulky. He could see how obviously freaked I was; why couldn't she? I stared off. Mrs. Zain was sobbing into Mr. Zain's striped button down shirt. He was just staring into space. He was a silent statue gazing into the night, staring it down.

I glared into the rippling water. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. The sun would rise, and I'd wake up, get on the bus, and go to homeroom. I'd find her with her nose stuffed in a book. She'd look up and smile at me. JUST LIKE ALWAYS. But the sun did rise, and I had to face reality. This was not a dream. It was now May 26, 2009. My name is Kai Samuel Armstrong, and the girl I thought was my soul mate, Winifred Ruth Zain, is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

It was May 25, 2024. I knew this would be a bad day, just like every year. I would spend the day trying to ignore the infamous anniversary, and as I would be going to bed I'd remember that fateful night like it had just happened.

I remembered that day in so much detail. I saw the fireflies and the reflection of the sky on rippling water. I could call up the sound of her laugh as easy as blinking. I remembered EVERYTHING. It was excruciatingly painful every year for the past fourteen years. That's right; it was the fifteenth anniversary of Winnie's death.

That day I was determined to get over this. I had a girlfriend! A gorgeous, selfless, understanding, living girlfriend-emphasis on the living part. She loved me, and I loved her. She understood that I was traumatized by this, but she deserved better. Poor Kylie. That was her name, and I cherished it. I WAS going to get over this. The girl had been dead for fifteen years for God's sake!

I got up and made breakfast. Kylie had already left for work. As I poured myself some Frosted Cheerios, I made up a plan.

The first step was to relive my senior year. I would go back to that night. I would remember every minute of that night deliberately. Then I would fish out the year book. I'd look at the letter her parents had sent me after they moved across the country to Georgia.

I'd finally look at the one thing I had left of Winnie- the diary her parents felt I should have. They had no intention of living their daughter's mind, but they knew how I had reacted-how I had written to them, trying to understand her after her death. I'd read her journal. Then I'd cry myself to sleep. When I woke up the next day, I would be a new man. I'd go to the jeweler's and buy the ring that I knew we (Kylie and I) were ready to have. I'd never think of Winnie Zain again.

The problem was overcoming my chronic procrastination. I'd always had problems with it through high school and college (Northwestern U rocks F.Y.I.). I got dressed and took a shower. I changed into a tee shirt and jeans. Then I rode the elevator down to the basement.

I watched the floor numbers pass anxiously. 4, why am I doing this? 3, I've been doing pretty fine actually. 2, Kylie and I need this. 1, what the hell; I'll give it a try. Lobby, then again… Basement, here goes nothing…

I trudged up to the storage space below our apartment. I found my boxes. I rummaged around and eventually found the one I was looking for. It read JACKSON HIGH SCHOOL in thick black sharpie in my sloppy scrawl. I tore the duck tape open. I could feel my heart thumping against my chest. Wasn't one of the first signs of a heart attack acceleration of the heart? I WAS getting older. I was thirty-two; that wasn't exactly a prime age to be stressing over a dead girl. I swallowed and felt my Adam's apple lurch.

There were four files in the box- one for each year. Each was exploding with random letters, pictures, newspapers, and concert paraphernalia. I unearthed the file from my senior year.

I grabbed it and tucked it under my arm. I rushed up the stairs. Who needs elevators? As I jogged up the concrete stairs, I suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline. I was finally beating this. I'd get this off my back and be free. Freedom. I yearned for it. Freedom from the guilt. Freedom from the dead girl that'd hung over my head for the past fourteen years like a black cloud. I could feel myself lightening with the idea of relief.

Then I glanced behind me. Something lay on the dusty floorboards of the hallway I was now in. I walked briskly back to it. The unidentified object turned out to be a letter-a letter to Winnie.

_Dear Winnie,_

_We don't really know each other, but ever since I saw you the first day, _

_I've been fascinated by you. I don't quite know why. You're intriguing._

_I can't seem to figure you out, but I will. I won't give up until I do._

_Sincerely,_

_Kai_

_P.S. You're really pretty_

I'd never actually given it to her, but I had planned to after that night. Then she died. Okay, nevermind about the whole I'm getting my freedom back thing. This was going to be a whole lot harder than I thought.

I sighed and trudged to my apartment. Room 512. Floor five. Northwestern Chicago Apartment Complex. Faith Avenue. Chicago, Illinois. USA, planet Earth. Milky Way. I sighed again, and then I shrugged. I'd get through this. I HAD to get through it. For Kylie. For Winnie. For me.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

I grabbed a cup of coffee in the kitchen and took a sip. The familiar liquid warmed me from the inside as it settled in my stomach. I could feel myself relaxing. I continued out onto our balcony.

The walls were made of old sandstone brick, and the actually balcony was made of sturdy brown wood. Two mismatched lounge chairs lay side by side in the middle. A small table lay on the left. An umbrella on the right.

I took a deep breath as I settled in the striped chair. Then I opened the folder. My breath came out in a whoosh. "Okay, hold your self together," I thought. "I'll be analytical on this. Overly so. So now's time for the first step. Senior year. First let's review the class."

So I opened the year book with a sense of dread and flipped to the twelfth grade. Ariel Annison, nominated class flirt. Bonny Bobary, nominated class brainiac. Josh Jacobs, nominated most athletic. Kai Armstrong, nominated most artistic. And finally I found her. Winnie Zain, nominated most likely to succeed, and she never even got a chance to succeed.

Her red-brown hair was pulled back in a low pontytail; wisps of soft bangs framed her heart shaped face. Her skin was a creamy porcelain with a sprinkling of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. Her eyes were a deep forest green. She didn't seem to be smiling at the camera; she was smiling to the person behind and the people behind the photagrapher. She looked like she was about to laugh. Her happiness was genuine. This girl was Winnie before Thanksgiving.

Everyone was in their own team or club. Ariel was a cheerleader, and Bonny was on the chess club. Josh had been the running back of our school football team, the Jackson Jackels.

I had been on the swim team until the end of the third quarter of junior year. It didn't seem nearly as important to me as before I'd discovered oil pastels. I'd been leading in breast stroke (yeah, yeah. Insert crude girlie jokes here). Then I took Art 2, and I was shown the beauty and diversity of art. I'd always thought art was just about a bunch of depressed guys cutting off their ears as they made swirly patterns with their watercolor specific brushes. I was wrong. I guess I was like my father in my passion. In his words, yes, I like art. I liked it more than the swim team, so I quit.

Winnie had been in orchestra. She played the cello. She was the team captain of the Panther volleyball team too. Did I mention about her solo in the choir too? She had everything, was everything, at least to me.

We'd always been casual friends. My group of friends sat with her group. She was there more for the fact that one of my friends, Ryan, was her boyfriend. She'd been going out with him for about four months, and they'd been getting serious. My best friend, Splat (In seventh grade he tried out for the football team. They ran over him and SPLAT! He was as flat as a pancake. His real name was Wesley Jr., son of the locally famous artist Wes and Macy, leader of Wish Catering.), and I loved joking around with Ryan about when the wedding was scheduled. We needed to get our tuxes early!

I laughed bitterly. We only got to joke for about two months; Winnie never came back after Thanksgiving break. Ryan mumbled something about home schooling. Later, Splat and I found a letter from Winnie addressed to Ryan about three weeks ago.

_Ryan:_

_Butt out. This is my problem; I really don't need your help. Don't reply to this letter. _

_I have too much to deal with right now, but you know that. I don't blame you; we are both at fault. _

_I'm not sure how I'll solve this. I only see two options, and I don't need you around to swerve my opinion._

_You'll never have to remember me or it again. Good bye, and good riddance, right?_

_~Winifred Ruth Zain_

_P.S. I'm home schooling officially_

_P.P.S. Don't bullshit around with sending money either, especially if it's out of guilt_

_P.P.P.S. We both know that guilt is bad, and actions strictly from guilt result in problems._

She came back the last couple of weeks of school. Her auburn hair no longer brushed her chest. It was jaggedly chopped and the longest strands only ran to her chin. She double pierced her left ear, and a rim of black liner framed her green eyes. She was more bitter and sarcastic, and Ryan avoided her. She did too. I wondered what was up, but it seemed like too much drama for me.

Maybe it would have been better if I'd stayed away and kept my distance. Maybe I'd be happily engaged to Kylie and be more successful with my artwork if I'd ducked out. If I didn't have this hanging over me. They were all what ifs.

Then on the last day she came up to me at the last bell. I was pulled across the front lawn to the back, among the red oaks and pines. She looked conflicted, but then she went up on her tiptoes (she was five feet four inches, I was six feet and a half, taking after my parents), and she whispered in my ear, "I always thought you were kinda cute."

Then she kissed me. She was bold and brave, and I was swept up in the kiss, in her. Her lips moved against mine, and I could feel my knee-jerk reaction. I wrapped her n my arms, and I felt her little body enclosed in mine. My head zinged from the passion, the heat. That had been the best kiss I'd ever had. I opened my eyes and watched greedily as she walked away. I wanted more.

I sighed and came back to the present. Okay, senior year was over. Now I could just relive that night. It'd be easy. I laughed at myself. It was such a pathetic lie. This was going to be painful. "Hey, pain was great for the slow artist," I told myself."

I pulled out my mental storage. I brushed off the old memory, and I stared it full in the face. "Full speed ahead to step two," I mumbled.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

I hated myself for being scared. I hated it more than ever before. I was scared of tons of things: death, water, this memory. It was all associated with the drama that had become Winnie and I.

When I came home from school that last day, my parents were out. They left a note.

_~Kai_

_We went out for an early dinner with Wes and Macy. We went to World of Waffles. Yeah for bacon! ____. We'll probably be back by six o'clock or around then. If you get hungry, there's lasagna in the freezer you can heat up. Love you!_

_~Mom and Dad_

I rolled my eyes. Dad was always out with Wes. Splat and I had met when our fathers decided we needed to learn wilderness skills and took us out camping. When my dad built the camp fire, he didn't check the direction of the wind. The tent caught fire, and then Wes used all of our clean water supply to put it out. Woo. Camping. Anyways, my dad met Wes when he took his anger management classes. The classes were being held at the Meyer's school where Wes got locked up in for some random robbery or something. Rolly, my father's old friend, Clarke, Rolly's wife and my mother's best friend, Wes, Macy, and my parents usually went out to Bendo, an old club that was big when they were kids, on Friday nights. It was unusual for them to be out on a Thursday.

I checked the messages. Aunt Mallory had called. She was a big league fashion designer in New York. We rarely saw her anymore. My mother had walked in a couple of shows of hers when she was younger, but she hated it the whole time. I think my mother walked for her just to stop the endless nagging phone calls.

Beep. No more messages.

I grabbed a bag of chips and moved into the living room. Nothing was on, so I decided to listen to re-runs of my father's radio show Anger Management. It was mostly oldies stuff, but at least he was more in tune with our music than most adults his age. I tried to lose myself in the music. It didn't happen.

I gave up relaxing and moved out to the back porch. Our ranch style house had once been a chipped yellow fixer-upper, but now it was an orangey-yellow. Our wrap around porch was always warm and buttery with the afternoon sun, and our backyard was covered in plants, courtesy of my aunt Whitney, a professional gardener.

Many used canvases were thrown all over the porch. Some were leaned against the railing; others were piled on top of each other. My current work was leaned up on an easel that stood on top of a color splattered old sheet. I sat down on my worn stool. It was painted green with a maroon cushion on top. My box of pastels lay on the table beside the easel.

I slid open the wooden box and brushed the pastels with my fingers, coming up with an oily rainbow residue on my finger tips. I could feel myself unwinding. The canvas stood before me, illustrating a close up of a ripe granny smith about to be picked. A spindly fingered hand was reaching up. It was still in the works, but the oil painting seemed to be shaping up.

I absentmindedly filled in colors, but the whole time I was not thinking of my that shiny green apple but of Winnie. Of her red hair. Her green eyes. Her laugh. Her spirit. I was in deep, and I wasn't exactly sad about it. Before I knew it, the painting had formed into a human head. One with forest green eyes and freckles. I continued making her. The curve of her full lips in a sly smirk emerged from the pastels. Brown eyelashes framed her wide eyes, and her hair was pulled back in a black elastic like before she disappeared.

Winnie formed before me, and it became obvious to me what I needed to do. I needed to call her. I wasn't sure what I'd say, but I knew I needed to say SOMETHING. My parents came home. Dad ruffled my hair, and Mom asked about my painting. I gave some off-hand answer about how it was just some random girl. I got a weird look from her, and they then shared a creepy one between each other.

When it was eight o'clock, I was able to get to the phone. I found the directory, and I located her number. 355-5642. Area code: 756. I dialed, and my heart hammered in my chest. I was so nervous.

She answered, "Yeah? We're not here. Short and sweet. Snap, snap. Keep it fast. We'll call you back if we want."

Damn. Answering machine. I thought it had actually been her-real time. Her voice was a sweet soprano. The tone for the message rang. I swallowed. Hard. I took a breath, ready to say something, but then I choked. Literally, I choked on my spit. I coughed and breathed hard. By the time I could breathe again, my phone had automatically disconnected. Were the forces of the universe against me?

I kept calling back, but I always got her answering machine. Something always stopped me from leaving a message. By the time of eleven o'clock, I was sick of playing phone tag with myself. I decided to be more forward, less passive. I knew her address because of all the times I'd dropped Ryan off at her house. It was very convenient.

I pulled on a pair of sweats and jogged out the door. I left a note saying I went for a jog. Her house was three blocks down from mine. I ran as fast as I could, and I came to her house in just minutes. It was exactly how I remembered. It was made of sandstone and stood on the shore of the lake. All the lights were off, except for one room that I hoped was hers. It was along the side yard of the house, and a window was wide open. A pair of legs hung out from the window sill. They rested on a trellis that was tangled among a winding ivy vine.

I jogged toward the open window. I was very quiet, and I found that the pair of muscular legs was connected to a body. That body was connected to a girl's face. Winnie's face. Just my luck. Maybe the universe wasn't conspiring against me. She laughed out loud. I turned my head to read the title of the thick book in her lap. _Twilight_. It was one of her favorites; she read it pretty regularly. I didn't quite get why you would read it over and over again unless you kept forgetting the ending. Maybe Winnie wasn't nearly as intelligent as I thought.

I was planning on surprising her, but she beat me to it. "Whatcha doin'?" she asked without lifting her eyes from the page. I think I jumped maybe five feet in the air.

I rubbed the back of my neck and grinned sheepishly. "Nothin'…"

She glanced down at me, her green eyes sparking. "If you ran all the way here, as I know you did because I heard no sound of a car or the clatter of a bike, there had to have been a reason."

She was way MORE intelligent than I thought. I guess that would explain her full schedule of A.P. and college level classes. I shrugged, "I've been thinking of you and I sort of wanted to see you, so…"

"And this is how you call for me, my good man?" she replied in an old English accent.

I grinned goofily. "Why, oh why, can't you climb down the vine? And be a maiden of mine?"

"'A maiden of mine?' How many maidens do you have, kind sir, because I think that's illegal."

"Only one that holds my whole heart. And she will not come down to me."

Winnie rolled her eyes, "That's really cheesy, you know. I'll be down in a sec."

She closed the window and returned to the room. She reappeared soon after dressed in the same pair of shorts and a bikini top. She opened the window and flung both legs out. Her body followed, landing on the ground with a little thump. I steadied her, and she grabbed my hand. "I think I know something we can do," she said confidently.

She pulled me across her backyard. We ducked behind a pine tree when we reached motion detecting light. She told me her parents loved those little security gadgets. My mind jumped to an episode of _Home Improvement _where Tim installed a motion detector in the backyard, and it was super obnoxious. I shook my head. Focus.

We ended up on her dock. We held hands and stared across the sparkling black waters of the lake. She shivered, and I pulled her into me, surrounding her. I kissed her neck, her jaw. I traveled up her face to her hair line. I kissed the corners of her eyes, her nose, her cheek, and finally I kissed her fully on the lips. She spun around and locked her arms around my neck. One hand tousled my hair, as I fingered hers too. Her lips were warm and smooth. This felt natural. We kissed for what seemed like hours, but it was probably only minutes. She started to pull off my shirt, and I knew where this was going. It wasn't my first time, but it wasn't one of many either. She pulled off my pants, and then she pulled off her shorts. I felt my hands stray from her waist, traveling down her hips, learning her.

She leaned into me. Her lips pressed against mine, and she shook her head. Winnie turned around in my arms to face the water. She said brightly, "We're going swimming!"

Swimming. Oh. I was disappointed; I'll admit that, but I didn't push her. This had been our second kiss for God's sake! I felt like I'd been with her forever, though. She unrolled herself from my embrace and kept my hand.

"Ready…set…JUMP!!!!!" she yelped. I was going to jump with her, I swear, but something made me stop. She plunged into the depths alone, without me. A cold fear swelled in my stomach. I bit my lip, and I shook my head when she called for me. Her thin shoulders shrugged, and she dove down to the depths of the black water. Then she was gone. Forever.

I pulled out of the memory. I could feel tears prickling my eyes, and I squeezed my lids shut, but a few tears slipped down my face. Anguish- that was what I felt. Why didn't I jump? Why didn't I move with her? She had been all I wanted right then, all I needed. Why didn't I jump? If I'd jumped, maybe I would have kept her close to shore. Maybe I would have pulled her away from that speeding boat. Maybe…

Silent sobs shook my body. I knew why. I'd been lying to myself for too long. Spring break-junior year. We went out to Gulf Shores, Alabama. The waves were amazing, and I was itching to take my surf board out. One morning, the waves were the best I'd seen yet. No one was up except me. I took my board out, and I surfed. I rode the waves for hours on end. No one came out to find me. Then I fell, and there was a strong current. A rip tide. It pulled me out to sea, farther and farther. Finally it came to a stop, swirling like a toilet into the bottom of the ocean. It pulled me under, and I stayed down there. I was convinced that I was dying. The next thing I knew, I was on dry land.

They told me that a diver had seen me being pulled under, and he rescued me. They told me I was lucky. They asked if I was okay. I told them I was. I acted totally unaffected, but I never showed up for the next swim practice.

What stopped from staying on the team? Fear. What stopped me from saving the one girl I'd ever loved? Fear. Cold, unforgiving fear. And it had been fear that had stopped me from accepting Winnie's death. It was fear that was stopping me from step three.

I was sick of being fearful. Sick of my shame. So I faced it. I faced the fear. I would dig through that file and rip open that envelope. I'd break that seal and face my fears. Shame would not bind me any longer.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

I searched the folder. And I couldn't find it. Not the letter. Not the diary. The tickets to my sanity had disappeared. Vanished. Poof! I frantically threw the contents of the file to the ground. I popped out of the chair, and in the same motion I was racing down the hallway. I took the elevator. Ever noticed the relevance of speed? How it all depends on whether the destination to which you will reach has gotten to faster or slower? I did at that very moment.

I was suddenly aware of the steady tapping of my shoe against the hollow floor. The body's reaction to stress is apparently toe-tapping. The numbers passed by slowly. How come they were going so much faster when I'd been on my earlier trip?

The door finally opened to the basement, and I sprinted to our storage booth. I thrashed through my stuff. Then I even took the liberty of trashing Kylie's stuff. Why did we have so much JUNK??? I wanted to scream out in frustration. Finally, I found the box I needed. In my stuff. Oops…

It was labeled Summer '09. I scrounged around, and found the diary but no letter. The diary was just your ordinary composition book-black and white blotches with a line for your name. I could feel my heart accelerating with panic. Again. I shook the little book by the binding. A broken envelope fell out. Lined paper peeked from the shredded paper opening.

I sat down right there on the cool concrete floor, not caring which neighbor saw me. I pulled out the paper with a sense of dread. Foreboding if you will. It was folded into thirds, totally precise, totally perfect. It was written in neat block letters. My eyes widened and my breathing hitched. I was eighteen again, just trying to figure it out.

_Kai:_

_To the boy who healed the broken pieces of my daughter, who put her back together and sewed her in tight, I am forever grateful. You gave us back our little girl. When little Winnie got pregnant, we didn't know what to do. What to think. When we sent her off to Wyoming to live with her aunt while she decided how to deal with it all, we thought we'd lost her. When she came back, we were not sure she was the same person. She resented us. She seemed to hate the world-our sweet little girl. She had been this innocent little thing with a heart to give everyone a chance, and we felt that by abandoning that heart, we had made her abandon us. She was a normal teenager, and we hated it. When you first called us and told us about what had happened at school, we finally knew what had made us receive that good night "I love you guys" and that smile. We had not seen those things since the news. Thank you. You found our girl when even we had lost her. We have dissected this whole thing word by word. You loved her more than even the guy who knocked her up (he was a little bastard, we're glad it was you that night and not him), and we feel you deserve to try to understand our Winnie. This is the best gift we can give you for giving us back our little girl before she left us. Read it, and may you forever find good favor upon yourself._

_With love,_

_Mr. and Mrs. Zain_

I didn't know why I did it, but I did. When I pushed the letter away, I knew I needed to get away from Chicago. I needed to connect with my past, so I walked to the garage in a daze. My red Chevy pick-up had a full tank of gas, and the road was before me. I drove for a while, weaving in and out of traffic. When I hit the high way, I sped forward. The speedometer inched forward. 30. 35. 40. 45. 50. 60. 65. I raced over the black top. The towns and trees passed like it was the same landscape.

By dawn I was in my hometown. I pulled up to the Quik Zip and pulled in. My pulse was racing, and I was so thirsty. I needed sustenance. Two minutes later, I came back to my car with a Zip Diet Coke. An old couple was pulled up. They each were staring off to the sunrise. They were about my parents' ages. She was laughing, and he gestured wildly in a clumsy fashion that I usually associated with gangly preteens. She chuckled, "Dexter! Stop it! You're making a scene!"

Maybe that could have been Winnie and I, maybe not, but we never actually got a chance to find out. It was so unfair. I sighed and pulled the composition book from the passenger seat. The back of my car was warm and comfortable. The open top allowed the breeze to flip my oily hair off my face. The line on the cover held a name. A name I avoided uses in everyday conversation. A taboo, but fears had to be faced at some point, right?

_Winifred Ruth Zain_, it read. I opened the comp book. The pages were yellowed with age. The first page held a short entry. Just couple sentences in her hurried script.

_November 15, 2008_

_The strip was pink. I'm pregnant. This sucks. Major. I'm gonna kill Ryan._

I shrugged. Might as well get it over with…


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: some more reviews would be nice motivation, sorry it's been so long since my last update, I've had lots to do! anyways, I hope this satisfies you guys

Chapter 6:

_November 16, 2008_

_I'm not sure when I'll tell him. I'm not sure I even will… I mean how could I be pregnant? Scratch that; I know how I got here. I mean, we were careful weren't we? I'll answer that- nope. We didn't even use birth control, but it was only once… but once is all it takes. I have IT growing in me as proof of that. But it was so great. He'd been gone for the past week. So when he came over that Saturday, of course we kissed. I'd missed him. I don't know why… I mean, our relationship is probably on its last legs. He wasn't returning my calls. This weird look always crosses over his face before every time I kiss him. But anyways, we were kissing, and then his hands were everywhere. Not much different there, but then THE LOOK crossed over his face. The one I'd only just been seeing. He seemed to shake it off, and then before I knew it my panties were the only thing between us. And then it was just skin on skin. Afterwards, I panted, "You comfortable?" He just nodded. I snuggled closer. God, I loved him. "You enjoy it?" He just stayed still, and my heart beat faster. "I mean, I know I did…" My mind was racing. What had I done wrong? But before I could go overboard into the sea of frets he answered, "Oh, no! Of course I… I mean, it was… You were…" I sighed with relief, and I closed eyes. Probably ten minutes after US he catapulted out of bed. Rushed excuses poured out of his mouth. I just nodded. I watched him get dressed and walk back to the door. He basically sprinted out to his rusty old van and speeded away. I know I did something wrong. Besides the whole getting pregnant part._

God, did I really have to read about her and Ryan? I mean, I wanted to understand her, but not like this. I rolled my shoulders back. It was already pretty dark. I might as well go find my parents… I hopped back in the truck.

I raced down the road for a while, re-exploring the town. Lakeview hadn't changed much since I'd lived there. A couple more stores. A few less trees, but still virtually the same. Then my cell pinged. A new text message. I picked it up and scrolled to my inbox. It was from Kiley; I hadn't even considered her reaction before I'd come down here. I opened the little virtual envelope with apprehension.

_Where the HELL are you? Over at Benji's Bar? Getting yourself stumbling drunk before you break down to tears over this stupid dead girl? You PROMISED you wouldn't be like this! _

This was bad. I replied back:

_Visiting old friends… in Lakeview…I probably should have told you._

In just a few seconds she'd answered back:

_LAKEVIEW?! Ok, Kai, I get some moping and a sick day or something, but not a trip across the freaking Midwest USA!!! Come HOME. We can work this out; I know we can._

I grimaced and typed an answer:

_I don't think so… I need to do this. ALONE. I'll be back soon._

Her answer took longer to come back. I knew I'd hurt her, but this was something I needed to do. I mean, this was all for her. Right? I loved her so much. She deserved it; I mean, I did love her more than a dead girl I'd kissed twice. Right? I was scared to answer myself. Her answer was furious, and I could feel a bullet to my heart:

_If you want to be so alone, Kai, than I won't stop you, but alone once is alone forever. Don't bother coming back. I'll ship your stuff out to your parents. Have fun with your dead girl. Good bye._

I felt my stomach drop from the pull of the gravity as I fell from the ledge I'd been straddling for the past couple years. The force helping me stand up was gone. I'd have to learn how to walk again by myself, without the support I'd used since the day I'd met her at the art gallery.

I remembered that day easily. I was exhibiting my latest painting. It was dark and depressing- the same thing I'd been doing since Winnie's death. It'd been working for me pretty well. This one girl was examining it, a notebook and pen in hand. She wore a brown eyelet sundress. Her shoes were brown and covered in an outrageous floral. Her cascading brown curls were held back by a delicate blue head band. She came over and introduced herself to me. Kylie. A cute, pretty name. She asked a couple questions and sauntered away, leaving me in a daze.

Kylie found me that day depressed and falling deeper. I was in a downward spiral that I probably wouldn't have come out of if she hadn't saved me. She was a reporter at the _New York Times_. Her favorite color was hyacinth blue, and her favorite place ever was Jersey shore. She lived for the city, and I lived for her. Then things just got harder. Less paintings were being bought, and then Kylie was wearing down. That's where it ended- with a text message and a promise of packages addressed to my parents' house, which I'd just pulled up to.

The truck heaved to a stop. 206 Wild Flower Street. The paint was chipped, and when I came up the front stoop and walked across the front porch, I found it creaking way more too. Mom and Dad would be surprised to see me. I hadn't come home since I needed change for the Laundromat in college. They'd always come up to visit after that. When plane tickets were cheap, that is.

I rang the doorbell hesitantly. It was a minute or two before it swung open. There my mother stood before me. She had a few more wrinkles etched into her skin. They were probably made more evident by the look of confusion on her face. That befuddled look instantly changed into my mother's best physical feature- her radiant smile. It always lit up her blonde tresses and blue eyes. She must have been amazingly gorgeous when she and my dad met in high school.

"Kai dear! I'm so happy to see you!" she exclaimed. She turned around and called out, "Owen honey, Kai's here!"

I heard some grumbling from the other room and then my father's towering body came into view, Even in old age, Dad was huge. "Annabelle, what did you call me out here for? The Crusher was just about to pound The-." He stopped in his tracks when he saw who the visitor was. "Kai! Son! Annabelle, why didn't you tell me?"

Mom and I shared a knowing look. She shook her head and chuckled under her breath. "I did."

Dad turned back around with some more grumbling. Well, that was Dad. Mom put her arm around me. She ushered me into the kitchen offering drinks and food. I mumbled a couple "no thanks" and "I'm good". We went through the normal pleasantries. She wondered how my painting was doing and how the city was. I said everything was fine. Which was a blatant lie. The last painting I sold was eight months ago. Then came the real question I knew she'd been dying to ask, "So what's brought you down here? We haven't seen you in that doorway since heading out of here with a bag of clean laundry and a couple rolls of quarters."

I shrugged, "Just took some time off… Needed a break…"

"How's Kylie?"

My mother absolutely loves Kylie. She'll be disappointed it's over. I reply, "I wouldn't know. We broke up."

She gave me this look like she was sorry for me. I knew that look. It was back from those months after Winnie died when it was impossible to hide from the grief. I shrugged it off. " Look, I'm really tired after the long drive. I'm gonna go to bed. Is my room good?"

She said, "Sure, but watch out for the dust bunnies. They must be bigger than your father by now!"

I turned back to the hallway, shaking my head at my mother's sense of humor. Pathetic attempt would be a good description. I called "Good night" to Dad and then headed back up to my room for another episode of _I'm in Love with a Dead Girl._ God, I'm even more pathetic than my mother's weak jokes.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

The stairs creaked as I loped up them. They were made of cherry wood and spiraled up the two stories of our house. One wall contained a large window where the sunlight would expose floating dust particles on a nice day.

The other wall was hung with pictures that could easily be put into a collection called, "The Armstrongs through the Years." There was my mother; twenty-five at the time, she was in a lacy wedding dress and clutched my father's large arm on the day of their wedding. He had the goofiest smile on his face. Mom was staring into the camera, her face full of triumph and healed happiness. The next was Dad holding a little baby swaddled in a blue blanket. He was sitting on a hospital bed that held a very sweaty, very happy new mommy. They were a new, happy family.

The pictures continued on with me dressed in an array of Halloween costumes, Santa hats, suits, and embarrassing school pictures. Near the end was the picture from my senior year. I had been just at that stage between zitty and clumsy and confident and normal looking. I looked really happy. Then there was a picture of Kylie and me at one of my painting exhibits. She was laughing while I was smiling at her, but the smile didn't touch my eyes. God, will I EVER be happy?

I shook my head in exasperation and continued up the stairs. My room was in between the laundry room and the bathroom. When I opened the door to my room, it creaked with disuse. It was the same as ever- light blue walls since I'd been born, full-sized bed on an old wooden frame, night stand with the glass lamp, paintings covered almost every surface. They were all in different stages, some simple sketches, others completed paintings. There were my experiments with other materials I'd done before I'd found oil pastels. My other favorite had been acrylics; there were a couple of those too.

I flicked on the lamp and deposited the few clothes I had brought with me into the dusty dresser. I opened the last drawer and found my old favorite t-shirt. It was white, and in plain black lettering it read on the front, "I'm the new Van Gogh." On the back it read, "Maybe not…" and a big red arrow pointed to where my ear would be if I was wearing it. I'd had it on when I went to see Winnie. Wonder why I haven't come home a lot since moving out? Everything here brings me back to her.

I pulled off my clothes and opened up the covers. I slid in and turned off the light, prepared to escape my thoughts for a full eight hours.

TWO HOURS LATER…

I tossed and turned, annoyed sighs escaping me. One thing bad about being next to the laundry room and bathroom- you hear EVRYTHING. The washing machine had run every night here since forever; I'd become used to the almost quiet of our apartment. My father got up probably every fifteen minutes to pee (curse old age), so I was constantly listening to the toilet flush. Sleeping was an impossibility at this point in time.

I flipped on the lamp and was temporarily blinded by the bright light. I shuffled over to my bag, and pulled out her composition book, flipping to the third entry.

_November 21, 2009_

_Today I was going to tell Ryan, really I was. I told Mom and Dad today at breakfast. I think they're still in shock. They didn't speak a whole word to me all day; I think I may have broken their hearts, or at least the part where they still think of me as the little kid who wore her pink tutu and tiara everywhere for a full two weeks. So anyways, back to Ryan. After school I walked over to his house, and I rang the doorbell, totally feeling like I was gonna throw up (from morning sickness or nerves, I don't know). His mom answered. She's like this big real estate seller person. Their house is like this huge mansion; at least child support will be really big if I decide to keep the kid. She was all, "Oh Winnie, Ryan's in his room doing homework; go right ahead." And I was like, "Thanks!" And then I went up to his room, trying to figure out what in the world I was gonna say to him. I started thinking about how he was gonna dump me and how the whole school was gonna think I'm a slut once he told everyone. I then opened his door, and guess what he was doing? Certainly not his homework! I caught him in the act with his slutty neighbor. My life is so effed up. He then looked over her shoulder as I was just standing there, wishing he'd go to hell. His eyes got all huge, and he bolted up right light the mattress was on fire. She just looked at me like she was caught in the middle of this kind of thing all the time. She probably was. I turned around and stomped down the hall way and out the door. I could hear him following me, and I got to the stop sign and finally stopped walking. He's trying to button his shirt and mumble excuses at the same time. I was all slumped and asked in my sharpest voice without turning around, "How long." He stopped talking and just stayed silent. I got angrier. "How long, Ryan?!" He said in this solemn voice like he was actually sorry (yeah, right), "Monday." I was like, "The seventeenth?" and turned around to see him shake his head. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath through my nose, "The tenth?!" He corrected me, "The third." I repeated him, "The third?! What the hell, Ryan! You were already cheating on me for over one week by the time we had sex?! How could you?!" He just shrugged. I shook my head, "And I thought we loved each other; I only loved what I wanted to see. I see now that I slept with a stupid and conceded example of a man-whore." I saw his eyes grow shadowed, "It's not like you tried to stop me or anything." I yelled, "I was depending on you to be at least half-way decent! Did you only sleep with me because you were guilty?!" He made no answer. I started walking back home, and I heard him call after me, "So are we still on for the twenty-third?" I shook my head; stupid and conceded is right. "Good-bye, Ryan!" So now I know I was not only impregnated by a stupid, conceded guy but also a stupid, conceded, CHEATING guy. This kid is gonna have issues even before he can do anything about it!_

I thought I officially hated Ryan now. The girl's name had been Jade; he'd known her since he was little. They'd been on and off since she was little. It had always happened this way. He'd be dating one girl, and then he'd start going at it with Jade. He never even thought about telling the girl he was currently dating, but the girl always found out one way or another- caught cheating at a party, school once in a while, usually at his house though. "Doing his homework" in his room- his mom always fell for that one. She didn't even think of attaching screens to the windows or removing the metal trellis below them. Jade always had easy access to a half hour or so of "doing his homework." Why had I been so stupid as to assume that he wouldn't cheat on Winnie? I had just stood by and let it happen to girl after girl, never a comment or anything. Could I be more of a coward? Why had I been friends with such a jerk? Why had I not even thought to warn her? Why didn't I step up?

I think I truly hated myself. I mean, I had even cheated myself once or twice. All guys cheat is what I told myself whenever the guilt came. Excuse after excuse. Why hadn't I even challenged myself to NOT be like other guys? Then I thought of Kylie. I'd cheated on her, too- only with a dead girl. She knew it too, and yet she stayed with me for as long as she could handle. Obviously cheating is too much for anyone to handle, even a girl as amazing as she was. How could I be so insensitive? I would have broken up with me too if I could have. I wondered how she was doing. I wondered if she cried after our text war. I wondered if she felt free- if she said, "Good riddance! Finally that black cloud has blown away." I could feel my composure breaking even more.

I cried myself to sleep, just like every anniversary. Only I did not cry over the dead girl I still loved for once. I cried over the living girl I still loved. Two sides warred in me. I fell asleep that night while a great battle ensued.


	8. Chapter 8

To my awesome readers:

Hey, my fabulous readers! Ok, so right now you're all probably wondering, "What's with this person? How come she's not updating?" Well, that is because I've lost interest in this story. I'm finding it annoyingly cheesy and stupid right now, and I am not liking myself, so I am putting this one on an indefinite HOLD.

I'm sorry to everyone reading this out there. I'm hating this too, but if you need something to replace this one, try out my other two stories: Alice: Facing the Future and A Fire in the Night. The first one is about Alice and how she meets Jasper and how they find the Cullens. The second is about Jane, a detective who was in foster care. She's a twenty-six year old just on the verge of meeting up with her horrible past. I think they're both very good, but I'm hugely biased being the author of them and all that.

Anyways, get me out of this funk! Reviewers, I need ideas and critiques BADLY. Tell me I suck for putting this story on hold. Tell me I'm stupid for not seeing all the possible ways I can take this story. Tell me that you love this story and that I'm the most amazing person ever, or maybe just tell me I'm a worthless form of space on Fanfic. Just tell me something!

Again, I'm sorry, but I have an amazingly low attention span for my writing. It's the same with books I read. Anyways, pick up my other stories. I like to think that they're a whole lot better. R&R please, thanks!

Frustratedly yours,

Happilyeverafter18


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Well, I AM finishing this story. I'm going to only do this story until I get done cuz this is just taking so long. But I finally know what I'll do. Either way, here's what I am now considering Part 2 of Forgetting the Plunge.

Chapter 9:

_Winnie flipped her long auburn hair at me. Her green eyes both sad and forgiving. She wiggled her fingers at me. Then she started walking over. I turn to look behind me. There was Kylie. Her soft brown eyes intelligent and contemplative. She smiled serenely at me and gracefully came toward me. My two forever loves on either side. They closed in, coming closer and closer. Suddenly I transported to an on looking perspective. They walked together and stopped opposite one another. They both looked at me and gave me wide smiles. Winnie winked. Kylie nodded. Then they pulled their palms against each other and everything was encompassed in a blinding white._

I sat up in bed. I tried to blink my eyes, but they stuck with the salt of tears shed in the night. _I'm turning into such a sissy. I need to grill out or hang with my father watching the game and drinking beer… God, that'd be even worse. _I shook my head and turned to my drawers, resolving to read and think later.

I slid into a t-shirt and jeans- both paint splattered and crazy. I opened the door, hoping Mom had fixed the squeaking hinges. She hadn't. I cringed at the seemingly loud sound in the quiet of early morning. I heard nothing. My parents weren't even up. It must have been extremely early, but the sun still illuminated the whole house through filmy white curtains. I creaked down the stairs hurriedly, not daring to stop and look at the pictures. I grabbed an ever-present Pop Tart (even then when I had not visited in years, they were still well-stocked) and made my escape out the back door, black and white composition book in hand. I shimmied through the tiny garage side door (like my father, I am very tall) and flung junk around until I found a large quilt.

I hopped in my truck and sped towards the scene of the crime- the place where Winnie and I had shared our first kiss together. I pulled through the driveway behind the school and next too the copse of bright spring green trees. I fanned out the quilt and settled in to read the rest of the book. Surprisingly, there were very few entries left. Winnie had been more into her music than really writing, let alone about herself.

_December 10, 2009_

_So I'm on a plane- to Wyoming. How random is that? Not really. It was Thanksgiving. We were all just being real quiet, eating our dinners and not acknowledging our problems- like always. Then Dad just cleared his voice and handed me this envelope. I was thinking it's like some card for Thanksgiving saying how thankful they are for the gift that is me and all that crap, right? But, no. I pulled out this plane ticket, a pamphlet for Planned Parenthood, a map of some backcountry town in Wyoming, and a letter from my aunt, who I haven't seen since I was like six._

_Here's what the letter said:_

_Dear Winnie,_

_I can't wiat for you to come visit me. It'll be so much fun! The ranch is great. You'll love it here. Write more later. Call anytime._

_Love,_

_Ivy_

_I just stared at them in their almost matching country club outfits. Dad's in a white polo and tucked khakis. His balding hair was gelled into a slightly thinner and less full Elvis Presley bouffant impersonation. Mom was also wearing a white polo shirt and khaki skirt that was so short it should've been illegal for a woman of her age to wear. Her dyed reddish brown hair (made to look like mine, unlike her own salt and pepper would-be dark brown) was gelled into a bun in the back of her head, accentuating her deep forehead wrinkles. _

_He cleared his voice again and says, "So this is what we've decided:" I cut him off, "You mean what you and Mom decided without me?" He just continued, "You're going to go live with your aunt until Christmas. In that time we expect you to get an abortion, get your act together, and come back like nothing has happened. Ok?" I stared, shell shocked. Then I nodded and excused myself because that's what we do, us Zains. We don't feel, or at least we don't ACT like we feel._

_So now I'm on a plane. To Wyoming. And I just connected to Facebook over my phone. And Ryan's already changed his status from "in a relationship" to "it's complicated" and finally to "single." My parents have abandoned me for an eccentric twenty-seven year old aunt. And I'm seventeen going on eighteen and going to have a baby. This is the part of the phrase, "When the shit hits the fan…" I wonder when I get to get over it all._

_December 11, 2009_

_So here's the thing. Aunt Ivy has flaming red hair and ice blue eyes. She gentles foals during the day and sings at a local bar at night. She basically leaves me alone. So far she doesn't seem too bad. And here's the other thing. She's going to teach me how to ride. I'm getting ahead of myself._

_So I got off the plane and followed the Map Quest directions to her house. Wyoming is rocky and mountainous, but besides some forests there are no cities, no stores, and no people. I knew that I wasn't going to be in like NYC or anything, but I did expect the population to be more than three thousand people in a hundred square mile area. I came to a large ranch. My aunt came out, wiping here hinds on a dirty towel. All of Wyoming was just one big dust bowl. She came up and hugged me, her out of control long red curly hair restrained in a pony tail. It tickled my face as she held me close to her. She smelled like pine needles, rosemary, and lavender. I smelled like airplane food. She said in a western accent I was unfamiliar with, "Well, Hon. Welcome to Wyoming, land of the free and home of the brave. I hope you like it here. I sure know I do."_

_She showed me around, and I unpacked. Then I went down to watch her work. She not only broke foals, but also tamed and sold the wild mustangs. She kept a herd that ran wild through the countryside, knowing that every morning she'd drive them back home with Integrity, her lovely mare. I watched her drive them home, and it was beautiful._

_I explored the property. I read a bit up in the hayloft. Then she took me to her show. She was fabulous. I almost feel like I'll be rooming with a friend, not a legal guardian. We had fun. I think I might like it here…_

_And another thing. I don't want to kill this baby. I don't want it, but I don't want its death. How do I tell her that?_

_December 18, 2009_

_I wrote Ryan a letter. I hope he doesn't reply. He better not. TOO MUCH PAIN._

_December 25, 2009_

_So I told Ivy a couple weeks ago. She just shrugged and grinned. She laughed, "I figured you bail. You're too much like me." I shook my head. Ivy is who I WANT to be in a couple years, not who I will be. Anyways, Mom and Dad called. Ivy and I have decided to not tell them about having it- too much drama, or should I say un-drama? So I just said that I want to wait a couple more months- maybe until May? Truth is, I was lying earlier. What happened with Ryan? It did, only it was more like Septemberish/ Octoberish. I know I'm supposed to be totally honest with you, but I told my parents and you that late because my mom is a great snooper and my whoriness is hard to admit, even to myself._

_Ivy said I could stay. My parents agreed. I'm staying on one condition (from Ivy weirdly enough): I have to see a therapist every week. So far I've had two sessions or so. I've been thinking about Ryan, and you know what? I'm finding it so much easier without him than with him. Rena (Psyche Doc) has been asking me about him and his friends. I remember one of them who was always really nice- Kai Armstrong. He's sorta quiet, but in a strong observing way. He seems really deep, not just pretty in his dirty blonde messy hair and contemplative hazel eyes. He wears glasses, but in a geek sheek way. He was always watching me- watching out for me… I wonder what he's up to now-a-days?_

I lay back with a huge sigh. Winnie and Kylie were two very different girls. Kylie was analytical and perceptive. Winnie was passionate and artistic. How could I have fallen for two totally different girls? That's the thing. I think I was looking for Winnie's exact opposite- someone who wouldn't bring back the aching endemic pain. I pulled out my phone and checked my email. One from Facebook and one from Kylie. The first said that Kylie had blocked me. The second?

_~Kai_

_Let's make this a clean break- no more emotions. You'll get on with your life, and I'll get on with mine. Best wishes for the future._

_~Kylie_

_PS. I'm packing your stuff as I write this. It'll be there soon._

I sighed and shook my head. That's what we needed- a clean break. Our relationship had been traumatic. There was no give or take. No protective urges. But I had loved her. I know that, but in a different way than Winnie. Different and yet the same. I rolled my eyes at my cowardice and shyness. Back to Winnie.


End file.
